Cast from the Garden
by Sapadu
Summary: Many years after Volume Eight, mysterious things are happening in the Hargreaves household of Merry Weather and Oscar. And, somehow, Crehador suspects that it has something to do with it's former Earl and his faithful servant.
1. Chapter 1

CAST FROM THE GARDEN

By Sapadu

A/N: This fic is otherwise known as 'I know I should be working on my other fanfictions and homework, honestly I do.' But it HAD to be done.

Dominic Crehador heard the commotion the moment he entered the front door of the Hargreaves Manor, no matter how deep into the heart of the place the actual event might have been. For one thing, the arched hallways, tile-lined floors, and marble walls echoed every sound with the precision of a conductor waving his baton. For another, Merry Weather had always been a very strong, spirited young woman, and her voice was proving to be every bit as loud on this occasion. The butler barely had time to take Crehador's hat and coat before the medium strode down the hallway in the direction of the noise.

Oscar was somehow out of his element as Crehador approached, completely unnoticed as the former Baron Gabriel paced a rut in the fine carpet. It was somehow unnerving, but at the same time, humorous to see him so distraught and unlike himself. Though, Crehador supposed it was only natural for him to be so worried at a time like this. Eventually, however, the pacing began to get on Crehador's nerves, to the point he finally cleared his throat and allowed himself a smirk as Oscar jumped about a foot in the air before he spun around and recognized his guest.

"Oh... Ha ha ha... didn't see you there..." Oscar finally managed a fake, but familiar grin, even as he waved for Crehador to take a seat in the parlor, which he accepted with a similar air as though Oscar hadn't even offered it to him. As Oscar was used to Crehador's attitude, he said nothing, but took a seat himself and proceeded to fidget even worse than before.

"I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time, Lord..." Crehador knew very well that he had not come at the best of times, but felt no remorse, nor did he intend to make anything easy for Oscar. However, as almost the whole household was aware of this fact and well accustomed to it, nobody was in any position to scold him. Oscar blinked at Crehador's trailing address, but laughed, nervously again.

"It's Lord Hargreaves now... but only in the same way that, under a normal marriage, Mary would have become Lady Gabriel, if you understand that..." Oscar assured him, before getting back to his feet and starting to pace again. Crehador ignored him.

"So, Lady Hargreaves has been doing well for the last few months, I would assume?" Crehador continued in his enfuriatingly calm voice. Oscar kept pacing, didn't answer, until one of the attending maids in the room curtsied respectfully as she spoke.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir? Would you and Lord Crehador be wantin' some tea?" Oscar continued to pace as Crehador watched him in the same bored, but fascinated manner that a cat watches birds outside the window. Oscar waved the maid away.

"No, no... everyone's busy enough taking care of Merry... I couldn't ask for tea at a time like this..." Oscar sounded... tired, which was yet another first. Not that Crehador really cared- it was just amusing to see how such a simple event completely changed a man around. Not to mention that there was a strange level of consideration he was showing to the servants that he normally never did. Still, it was something that was considerably amusing.

"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to make the tea yourself, did it, Lord Hargreaves?" Crehador finally asked, scathingly. Oscar laughed, albeit a little sarcastically, and shook his head.

"I wish you could hear yourself sometimes- I don't have the faintest clue how to do it, and even if I did, I'd be liable to break the teapot." He returned, somewhat sharply but with good humor enough that Crehador was satisfied the new Lord Hargreaves hadn't been possessed or kidnapped or something of that sort. God knew that enough of that had happened in this household with it's old master.

"So are you saying you would make ME do it? It's rude to force your guest to prepare food for them and yourself." Years of being cast down from the aristocracy had taught Crehador how to perform the mundane tasks of life that most aristocrats couldn't do to save their fortunes or skins. Included among those tasks had been tea making and while Crehador knew his tea would probably never be touched by Merry Weather, he did know it was good enough to calm her husband.

As soon as the herbs had steeped in the hot water enough and two cups poured, Crehador saw Oscar visibly calm, though that may have been the large amounts of brandy he'd downed with his tea more than the original drink. In any case, he stopped pacing the floor and his hands stopped shaking enough that he could hold his cup without spilling the tea everywhere. At this point, Crehador began to ask his question again.

"So, has Lady Hargreaves been well recently? You seem inordinately unsettled, it made me wonder if her health had declined in some fashion to make you worry like this." Crehador began again. Oscar shook his head and waved the concern away.

"No, Merry Weather's been perfectly fine... if nothing else, the last month or so, I wondered if the CHILD would be alright with how active she's been. All the doctors say that too much walking and exercise is bad for the baby, but Merry... you know..." Oscar waved his hand to accentuate his point, though Crehador understood much better than Oscar probably knew. After all, she had grown up in the slums of London and when her poison-dabbling brother took her in, their butler had been a medical student as well. Given such an unusual combination, Crehador and Oscar both knew that Merry Weather probably did not set much store by doctors, especially if she considered them hacks.

"So is something else amiss in the household?" Crehador asked, even as they both heard a very impressive explicative in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Merry Weather's from the other room. Oscar looked up with surprise and even Crehador couldn't deny his surprise, though he mostly found humor in the shocked looks on the faces of the maids who were standing beside the door. Oscar regained his bearings long enough to assure Crehador nothing else was wrong in the house.

"I suppose I'm just worried about Merry, that's all..." Oscar finally said, "...From the way she's been screaming like this and how the maids have been bustling about and the midwife and the doctor coming in and hurrying... It makes me worry that something might be going wrong with the baby... that I should be in there to help her in case she gets hurt..." Crehador listened with half an ear, while the other kept sharply attuned to the string of swear words that he was amazed the Lady Hargreaves could draw the air to shout. If nothing else, he was beginning to wonder if there was nothing wrong with the birth itself, but just the doctor and midwife were being superstitious and going by a number of practices that Merry Weather disapproved of.

"Childbirth is a battle that only the mother can fight. There is nothing we men can do to help a woman in a time of distress like this, because she is the only one who could win." Crehador finally said, sagely. Oscar sighed, then shook his head, putting it in his hands.

"It's not just that, but... I'm starting to wonder what would happen... what if something DOES go wrong that I could have prevented, but Merry dies because I wasn't there? And then, what would Cain say to me for breaking my promise?" Oscar asked. Crehador could feel his expression change to one of appropriate shock, as this had been the last thing he'd expected. Then, added to the fact he had been the last one to see the infamous Earl Cain C. Hargreaves, alive or dead, it brought a completely different aspect to the puzzle- one which he did not enjoy considering.

"You and Merry Weather still believe that he is alive, then?" Crehador finally asked, pouring some more tea into his own cup and helping himself to the bottle of brandy Oscar had left within his reach. He was thus quite surprised when Oscar's hand reached out and firmly gripped his wrist, before the Lord Hargreaves looked up with a venomous look that Crehador not thought him capable of.

"Do not say those words." Oscar growled in a low, menacing voice. Crehador was surprised- he would admit that- but also a little afraid as he was wondering if it was just the liquor talking or if this was truly Oscar Gabriel Hargreaves speaking, "Do not ever say those words in that voice." And then Oscar released Crehador's wrist and allowed him to pour himself a stiff drink.

It wasn't anything personal that he'd brought it up, but Crehador almost resented Cain for stringing these two along, keeping them thinking he would come back someday and everyone would be together again. It almost tempted the medium to just tell them outright that he'd seen the corpses under the tower rubble... never mind he had been the one to give them false hope by leaving that ring in a place Merry Weather would find it.

Secretly, he wondered what the two had DONE with that false signal of Cain's return. If Merry Weather decided to wear it, or just kept it in a glass case, or if it was gone for good.

There was a long moment of quiet, interrupted only by the maids outside the room hurrying from the other doors, into other chambers of the house, and back in with various artifacts. Even Merry Weather's screaming had stopped, giving both men pause, before the big doors opened and the doctor came out, liberally covered in blood. Oscar was out of his seat in a flash, though Crehador remained seated and supremely unimpressed with anything that was going on before him.

"Merry? Is she alright? Is she still alive? What of the child? Is it alive? What happened? Why was there so much screaming? Why..." Crehador tuned out most of Oscar's questions, but couldn't help but be a little curious- after all the cursing and blaspheming that had come through the other doors, all this sudden quiet did seem a little suspicious. There wasn't even the sound of a child crying.

Eventually, the doctor managed to get a word in between all of Oscar's rambling.

"Lord Hargreaves, I assure you that nothing is wrong- I merely needed to report a few things before I took my leave..." Oscar stopped screaming. Crehador sipped his tea, then poured himself a larger glass of brandy, "Your young wife, for one thing, is a very difficult patient to tend to. I thought it best to ask you, for the sake of her health, to try to urge her not to resist and argue with doctors in the future, regardless of what they might prescribe. It made it considerably difficult for us to care for her when she utterly refused to do as we asked. Quite frankly, I'm amazed the child survived labor at all."

Ah, so Crehador had been right about the superstitions of the doctor. Idly, he wondered if he'd tried to bleed her or something of the like to prevent hemorrhaging or to let bad blood out during labor. It was exceedingly amusing to imagine someone approaching Merry Weather with a scalpel with such intent when all who knew her well enough would have feared for their lives.

"Ah... I shall try to reason with her..." Oscar replied, even as Crehador knew he would do no such thing, "What else was there that worried you?"

"Well, while your wife and child are alive, I cannot be sure that the child is healthy..." The doctor continued, fidgeting slightly as though afraid of Oscar's reaction, "...As you can hear for yourself, the child isn't even crying... I'm quite worried that something is wrong with how well it can breathe..." Crehador listened half-interestedly to the medical proceedings, more interested in the fact that the good doctor was failing to use the word 'he' or 'she', instead referring to the child as 'it', "Then... there are some very... alarming developments... I'm sure you will see it for yourself when you finally see your child but... well..."

Oscar seemed to have picked up on the same thing Crehador had recognized.

"The child... is it a boy or a girl?" He finally asked. The doctor fidgeted again.

"That's... another difficulty we are having... you see, we cannot be sure..." The doctor finally explained, before quickly changing the subject, "In any case... I would advise that you see to it that your wife get plenty of rest and food, some fresh air, but not to much sun, and I would begin searching for a nurse to care for the child." That was another laughable piece of advice- if Crehador knew the young Lady Hargreaves at all, he knew that she would blatantly refuse to let some stranger care for her child.

Oscar assured- and by assured, Crehador knew that he was also lying through his teeth- the doctor he would follow his instructions to the letter, before bidding him goodbye and having a footman see him to the door. Oscar then returned to his seat and poured himself another drink or four while Crehador waited to see how well he would keep his false promise to the doctor.

Sure enough, within three minutes of his departure, the midwife ran from the other room in tears, promptly followed by Merry Weather, who was being followed by a terrified-looking maid. In her arms, Merry Weather carried a babe, wrapped all in white, her own dress rather messily done as though just thrown on at the last moment. It was more instinct than anything else that made Crehador stand the moment she came through the door, even as Oscar tripped over his own feet mimicking the gesture.

"Oh, sit down, both of you." She snapped, irritably, prompting Crehador to smirk. It was something of comfort that Merry Weather had adopted her older brother's habit of disregarding all propriety and manners deemed 'necessary'. She had even let part of her shift under her dress show and her corset wasn't even done. If any of this disturbed Oscar, he gave no indication.

"Merry... I think you should just know that the doctor doesn't want you up and about for a few more days and we should get a nurse for the baby..." Oscar began as his wife took a seat next to him, but with a look on his face as though he was asking her exactly how she planned to disregard these orders. Merry Weather shrugged, looking down at the child in her arms.

"I've been kept off my feet entirely for the past three weeks- If I don't stand and walk around sooner, I'll go mad." She replied, tartly, before raising an eyebrow at Crehador, "Lord Crehador, I wasn't aware that you'd come to call." She began congenially, even as Crehador kept his face perfectly neutral, reaching into his inner pocket and withdrawing a letter.

"That's surprising, Lady Hargreaves, when I received this invitation to stay for a visit from this house..." He offered, extending the envelope with it's cracked wax for them to inspect. Oscar took it, looking sincerely shocked. To be precise, the letter had been an invitation for Crehador to be present for the birth, christening, and baptismal of the young Hargreaves, and thus, stay at the manor for a few days time. This was clearly what Oscar was discovering as he read the letter and examined the crest.

"It's no doubt from someone in the house- but neither Merry nor myself wrote this..." He finally concluded, before adding, "Besides... both of us thought that Merry wouldn't give birth for at least another month..."

Crehador frowned, more than a little perplexed, even as Merry Weather sat herself a little more comfortably back on the couch and the babe in her arms made a strange noise that almost sounded like a gurgling chuckle. It was enough to make Crehador wonder exactly what the child looked like, but Merry Weather was holding him or her in such a way that Crehador couldn't see a face or even a head.

"It's possible that one of the servants sent it..." She mused, even as the maids standing nearby paled, "...But then, we would have noticed someone going through our desks to find writing paper and the seal." The same maids visibly relaxed. Briefly, Crehador wondered why they would be so terrified by Merry Weather's words, before it occurred to him that she must be even more strict about running a household and even pickier regarding her servants behavior than most ladies.

"...I don't suppose that your Uncle Neil could have sent it?" Oscar finally asked. Merry Weather blinked for a moment, then frowned. Crehador felt a sense of distinct unease, being sent an invitation, but not being a welcome guest by either of his hosts.

"It's a thought- I'll ask him later." She finally amended, before another maid brought in a tray of tea, this time with cookies and biscuits. Crehador accepted the cup but did not drink, while Merry Weather mostly left hers on the table, unable or unwilling to touch it with her arms full. Even Oscar didn't seem much in the mood.

"I hope your trip wasn't too much trouble, in any case." Oscar finally attempted to bring some proper conversation to the awkward silence even as Crehador smiled, politely.

"Not at all. The roads are quite dry." He replied and the attempt at conversation abruptly ended, before Crehador stood, feeling more than a little pressured, "Since it would appear my presence is not appreciated, I should take my leave and return to London." He said, bowing just a little, but even as Oscar stood to call a footman to see him out, Merry Weather gripped the tail of his coat and pulled her husband firmly back down.

"Oh no, Lord Crehador- It is my wish that you stay for dinner, by all possible means." Merry Weather was smiling, but in a strange way that reminded Crehador of that predatory smirk her brother would wear when distributing his poisons.

Oh, bloody hell.

"With all due respect, Lady Hargreaves, I do not wish to impose..." Crehador tried, but Merry Weather's wicked smile grew, ever more.

"It would not be imposing- how could I possibly think a man who aided my dear older brother in his most dire hour a burden? Even if this man DID insinuate that the Hargreaves' old master is dead when everyone in this household is still awaiting his return?" Merry Weather continued, that smile now looking a little strained even as Crehador understood that she was inviting him to stay, not out of generosity, but to punish him for his moment of doubt.

Damn. She WOULD have heard that statement. Damn, damn, damn, and blast it.

"Oscar, my dear..." Merry Weather continued, "Have our butler set an extra place at the table tonight."

Double damn. Double, triple damn.

* * *

Supper was a quiet, almost strained affair that night, as the Hargreaves treated Crehador with a sweet, if morbidly so manner. He should have known better than to even broach the subject of Cain with any one of them in the room, while Merry Weather seemed to have recovered from her labor rather quickly and was caring for the child that Crehador had not yet seen fully. To be more to the point, nobody had seen the face of the young heir yet, save for it's mother.

It was after supper that Merry Weather called aside Oscar, Crehador, and the old man whom was Merry Weather's and Cain's uncle. Crehador had only met the man once, so he didn't remember any name, but just the same, there seemed to be something important she needed to discuss with them.

"I couldn't tell anyone about this with all the other members of the family around, or even the maids, given how sensitive the topic is." Merry Weather explained, looking around as though expecting someone to be listening in. Crehador caught the glance that Oscar gave him, even as Merry did, apparently, "And I felt it would only be right for Lord Crehador to hear this, as well. Because it concerns my older brother..."

Crehador felt a spike of interest in this, but felt his suspicion grow ever stronger as Merry Weather continued to stare at the child in her arms. He could not, for the life of him, understand what this newborn babe had to do with the previous Earl.

"The doctor told me he couldn't figure out if this child is a boy or a girl... and I am not sure myself, either... but more important than that... I would like all of you to see this child's face." And Merry Weather pulled the blanket over the child's head aside. It was bald, covered in fine down hair, and round and shapen as any newborn babe's face would be. For a moment, Crehador didn't understand what it was they were looking for, before the child's eyes opened, just for a flickering moment and Crehador heard the other two men, along with himself, gasp as a glimmer of gold peered at them from under those eyelashes.


	2. Chapter 2

CAST FROM THE GARDEN

By Sapadu

"But... how can this be?" Crehador heard Merry Weather's uncle gasp, even as his hand extended, as though to touch the babe and assure himself it was real, before he hesitated and pulled away. Crehador could not find words to express his shock, while Oscar seemed to be the only one not completely struck dumb or amazed by this event. Rather, Oscar put his arm about Merry Weather's shoulders and continued to stare down at the babe in her arms with a mixture of contemplation and devotion in his eyes.

"That is why I asked for Lord Crehador to stay- even though we do not know who sent for you, if something is amiss in the House of Hargreaves, I trust you to know and be able to tell me." Merry Weather explained, soberly looking Crehador straight in the eye. Crehador swallowed a little, more than slightly taken aback by Merry Weather's declaration.

Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. She wasn't making a request of him, not in the least. It was the same sort of arrogance he'd become accustomed to coming from her brother- the confidence that people would do as they were told just because Cain had told them to do it. And, of course, it always worked. Even Crehador hadn't been able to resist an order from the Earl Hargreaves.

But Merry Weather wore this confidence like another gown. She flaunted it's best aspects and concealed it's worst with ease and skill and the fact that she was a lady who could gracefully weave a command into a request that was simply undeniable to obey made her just that much more crafty. Crehador understood completely why she did it.

"If this is what the Lady Hargreaves wishes for..." Crehador finally replied, evenly. Merry Weather allowed a small smile, even as the old man coughed a little and ushered the men away as Merry Weather departed to oversee the setting of a proper guest room for Crehador.

"What is it that you needed to speak to us about, Uncle Neil?" Oscar asked the old man, whom was looking grim. It was enough to catch Crehador's interest.

"It's something I actually needed to ask you about, erm... Oscar..." Neil replied, quietly, even as Crehador leaned back to watch, "...Did you have, shall we say... any siblings? A brother or a sister? Someone else in the Gabriel family that was disowned?" Crehador listened with half an ear, but felt fairly sure that he knew where this was going. Oscar didn't.

"Uncle Neil... why...?" Oscar stammered, but there was a serious look in Neil's eye.

"...It was Cain's wish that Merry Weather never be told of this... but... her true father was not Alexis..." Neil whispered, almost conspiratorially. Crehador was not surprised by this revelation- he had known the long passed Earl Hargreaves well, and his strange propensity for tormenting his children was no secret. The fact that he never once directly caused harm to Merry Weather for the sake of hurting her had been a dead giveaway for anyone who knew him that she was not his child. The only time she'd ever been a target of his plans was for the purpose of causing Cain suffering, really.

"...So... Merry's not..." Oscar whispered. Neil had a pensive look on his face, almost content, except there was also a sense of grief.

"The Hargreaves officially adopted her into the family under Cain's leadership, and both Cain and I never saw her as anything less than a true sister and niece. But, no... by blood and birth, she was not a true Hargreaves... in truth, the head of the servants was her real father..." Crehador watched the two speak, wondering why HE'D been called aside for something that sounded like a family matter more than anything else.

Oscar looked pensive for a moment, before he finally spoke.

"Well... if this is truly that important... I DID have an elder brother, once... He fell in love with some woman from the lower classes and father... well, he was... displeased, to say the least..." Oscar paused, "But I never really spoke with him that much, so I never knew what happened to him... even if he'd been disowned, I doubt he would have gone on to become a butler or anything like that..."

Neil sighed, before turning to Crehador at last.

"In any case, Lord Crehador, the matter of you being summoned here without even the knowledge of the servants... Do you still have the letter that you received?" He asked. Crehador cocked an eyebrow, but withdrew the letter from his inner pocket and handed it over. Neil examined it, then sighed.

"It's no good- I don't recognize this handwriting... from the slant, it must have been done with the left hand... but we don't even have anyone on staff who is left-handed. I can't imagine that any of the other Hargreaves would send this, when none of them know about your association with Cain... or, if they did, I don't see how they knew that any of US knew about it..." Neil muttered, distastefully, until Crehador stopped him.

"Is there someone new on your staff, perhaps? Who might be hiding something?" Crehador asked. Oscar immediately answered.

"There was the chamber maid- the one Merry Weather was abusing during her labor. But she's several weeks old in this household... and in any case, this letter reads 'Please arrive at the Hargreaves manor on the date of the birth of the new child of Lord and Lady Oscar Hargreaves- the 14th of April.' Nobody in the house could have known Merry would give birth today- everyone from the head butler to the stable boy were convinced that she wouldn't be due for at least another month. Even the doctor said so." Oscar took the letter from Neil's hands and scanned for something else that might give them a clue, before he sighed with frustration, "Arg, it's no good. I don't know who would even be able to write like this... 'We wish you to be present at the christening and baptizing of this child'... 'The new manor is in Weston, the country mansion'... Even the signatures... it would have to have been either myself, Merry Weather, or Neil who wrote this from what they know..." Crehador took the invitation back before Oscar could crumple it in his frustration.

"In any case, I'm an unwelcome guest in this house, I might assume?" He asked, irritably. Oscar's demeanor changed immediately.

"Ah ha ha... no, not at all... Merry had every intention of contacting you once she was due... don't be ridic-"

"After all, you're the only one who returned after brother's confrontation with his father." Oscar practically jumped a foot in the air as Merry Weather held the door open to the room. Her expression was irate and Crehador could hear one of her feet tapping on the floor with impatience, "I was coming to inform Lord Crehador his room is ready, but I wasn't aware I was interrupting anything..."

"Ah... Merry... dear..." Oscar stammered, even as Merry shot him a warning glance, "Er... we were just wondering... um... what to do about this er..." Merry's hard look didn't cease, and Oscar's stammering fell silent.

Merry Weather continued to glare, before her features softened.

"Oscar, is it true you had an older brother?" She asked, quietly. Oscar blinked for a moment, then looked away, "Your father wasn't easy to please, was he?" Oscar scratched the back of his head.

"Well... for me, he didn't really ask for that much... but, what can I say? I must have a natural propensity for not meeting others expectations of me... my brother though... my father had some unrealistic expectations..." Oscar admitted, almost sheepishly, but Merry Weather was surprisingly tender. It was enough to make Crehador wonder if she'd hit her head or been possessed.

"I'm beginning to wonder if I judged you too harshly, Oscar darling." Merry Weather said, quietly, even as she raised a hand to touch her husband's face. There was a beat in which Merry and Oscar shared a long, warm gaze.

"BUT YOU NEEDN'T WORRY, MERRY! EVEN IF YOU AREN'T TRULY A DAUGHTER OF THE HARGREAVES FAMILY, I STILL LOVE YOU DEARLY- YES! THIS DEEP, UNENDING PASSION OF MINE IS FOR MERRY WEATHER, ALONE, AND NEVER SHALL I FALTER FROM IT!" Oscar finally cried, throwing his arms around Merry Weather and ranting in the usual manner that was much more customary of his displays of affection. Crehador felt a sweat drop running down the back of his head, before Oscar was shoved away from his wife by the punch she gave him in the stomach.

"Don't grab me like that, you fool- do you want to smother the baby?" Merry Weather demanded, scowling. Oscar doubled over and coughed for a moment, but eventually regained his composure.

Ah, that was more like it.

"In any case, Lord Crehador, allow me to show you to your room."

* * *

The room was familiar, for the single time that Crehador had ever been inside it. A majestic bed with large drapes and a canopy stood in the middle of the floor, the room covered in lavish rugs and expensive paintings, even with it's own private bath attached. The only change was that it was now draped with black instead of the usual dark colors which had been elegantly suited to it's former owner.

"Lady Hargreaves... are you sure you've shown me to the right room?" Crehador asked, looking about, "I could swear this is... the previous Earl Hargreaves' room."

"Oh, I'm fairly confident this is the right room..." Merry Weather replied, serenely. Crehador gave her a backward glance, but Merry Weather had turned her back and left the room, with only Oscar in the doorway, looking crestfallen.

"I'm going to assume that Lady Hargreaves has just given me the room YOU normally occupy..." Crehador said, quietly. Oscar heaved a sigh, but smiled as he shook his head.

"No... Merry Weather hasn't let anyone enter this room except the maids to keep it tidy..." He confessed, looking slightly reminiscent, "...Just so it can be ready... whenever he comes back..." Oscar said, idly straightening a few pictures that hung on the wall despite the fact they weren't crooked to begin with. Crehador knew that Oscar just didn't want to look at him.

"Well, in any case... I hope you have a pleasant nights' sleep... while the two of us will probably be awoken at some ungodly hour by the baby..." Oscar finally said, grinning again in that manner that couldn't possibly be sincere. Crehador raised an eyebrow at the Lord Hargreaves.

"Have you two decided on a name, yet?" He asked. Oscar didn't answer, but left the room, quickly.

"Goodnight, Lord Crehador." And the door clicked shut, leaving Crehador doubtful that he would have a good night's rest.

* * *

_Lord Crehador..._

Crehador was used to hearing voices calling to him like this, ever since he was young. Spirits and ghosts had always been closer companions to him than other living beings, even from within his own family. He was also fairly confident that, given the Hargreaves history, there would be a spirit or two lingering in this room, whose last owner had sent many a foolish criminal to their just reward with his poisons.

Thus, the voices he was hearing calling his name didn't disturb him as he continued to leave his eyes shut, trying to sleep.

_Lord Crehador, please awaken._

Crehador simply turned over and covered his head with one of the overstuffed pillows. Good Lord, how did aristocrats SLEEP like this? The bed was filled with goosefeathers whose quill-like ends poked through the cloth and pricked his skin like needles and the blankets were so heavy, he almost felt like they were smothering him. Combined with the flannel cloth of his nightshirt and woolen undergarments, Crehador was sweltering in this bed. Granted, Britain was always chilly, even during summer, but how did Cain STAND this?

_To beg your pardon, Lord Crehador, this is rather urgent and I do not have all night._

It was, however, a first when ghosts started saying they had a deadline.

"Whereas I do have all night and no pressing urgency- give me one good reason I should talk to you." Crehador mumbled into the pillow. The voice sounded familiar, but Crehador couldn't quite place it.

_For one thing, I have a message from that lady friend of yours- and she was quite insistent that I give it to you, not someone else._

THAT got Crehador's attention. His eyes opened and he sat up with dizzying speed, happy to throw off the heavy, overbearing comforters, before his eyes were met with the most unexpected sight he would ever see in his life- including the resurrection of the Card Master's sister, the murder of his Sheila, and the strange Earl of Poisons who actually gave a damn about people regardless of their class or race.

"Y-you are..." He stammered, staring at the ghostly figure who was, for all appearances, standing firmly on the floor at the foot of the bed, still wearing that pressed suit and tie, and with a stoic, but comforting expression in those icy blue eyes, "N-number sixteen in Delilah's Major Arcana... the Tower..."

Riffael Raffit's gaze did not falter, even as Crehador continued to stare and stammer.

A/N: O-kay... Yeah... this is going to be a relatively short fic... like, four chapters. Because, I know what the basic premise will be, but I'll need some advice how to finish it up.

I am, at heart, a Cain/Riff shipper, but most fics out there are... really OOC. I rather liked their relationship as it was- all homoeroticism, but never more than just a touch. It just... suited both of their personalities. As such, we will see much servantly-ness from Riff in this fic, and that will be that. Just being clear.


	3. Chapter 3

CAST FROM THE GARDEN

By Sapadu

For once in his life, Dominic Crehador was completely at a loss for words- speechless, he would even grant that. Given the things he had seen in his lifetime, it was quite an accomplishment on behalf of the man at the foot of his bed to have shocked him so thoroughly into silence. If his mind had been clear enough to think properly, Crehador would have realized that his expression was similar to that of a hooked fish, but as he was still in a great deal of shock, this coherent kind of thought did not register.

While he'd seen the dead before, Crehador was singularly unused to seeing a spirit in a form such as this, speaking to him and visible as though it was still alive, and all this without Crehador having performed a ritual ceremony to call them. And it wasn't a matter of Crehador seeing the spirit in a mirror or some other passage which ghosts and apparitions normally traveled through- Riff was THERE, almost looking as though Crehador could have reached out and touched him.

"...A message from Sheila, you said?" Were Crehador's first words upon his vocabulary returning to him. Riff nodded, impassively. Crehador blinked for a moment, trying to reason what message she could possibly have asked THIS man, of all people, to deliver to HIM when Sheila had known very well that Crehador could speak with the dead for himself.

"Lady Sheila told me how much it had always pained you to summon the departed who were close to you in life, as well as how she had no desire to be called back again after the first summons you asked of her. As I had business here anyway, and as the man responsible for her death, I felt it was only my duty to pass along her message to you."

So, apparently, being dead gave the dearly departed the ability to read minds. Or perhaps Crehador was simply going soft in his old age and easier to read. In any case, Riff's words answered Crehador's confusion, but not his distrust.

"And how can I be sure you aren't the actual personality who killed Sheila? I would not be very inclined to listen to you..." Crehador warned. Riff inclined his head, slightly.

"You make a valid point, and I must regretfully say that I have no proof of who I am, besides my word and your good faith." The spectre replied, calmly. Crehador frowned for a moment, before he finally sat up, still cautious, but at least informed- he hadn't known the man well enough to make a judgment call for his character, but he did remember enough that The Tower would have attempted to "prove" that he was Riff, or not have bothered with the questions and just killed Crehador right away.

"Alright, then..." Crehador finally amended, still keeping his eye firmly on Riff, "What is the message she wanted to have delivered, but couldn't come herself to say?" He asked. Riff's eyes softened, a little, before he inclined his head, again.

"For starters, she is at peace and says she would rather wait for you than you come to her or call her back." Crehador blinked for a moment, completely taken off guard by the steward's statement, but also understanding the sentiment Sheila must have held- she would wait. That in and of itself was comforting.

"I understand..." Crehador nodded, slowly. Riff remained stoic, but his tone became a little more kind, as though he were trying to deliver the news as tactfully as he could.

"She also wishes to thank you for not accepting Lord Alexis' offer to have her resurrected. And that she does not blame you for her death." The effect of these words was much different from what Crehador would have expected. Even as he had refused to admit it, especially in front of the oh-so-proud Earl Hargreaves, there had still been a part of his mind that had been so terrified that Sheila had blamed HIM for being killed.

_"You, Dominic... you did this to me..."_

The way his mother had.

Crehador pressed a hand to his face, shaking for a long moment as he breathed in, slowly, and calmed himself. An incredible weight felt lifted off of his chest, before the feeling passed and there was only the lingering contentment. It took a moment to compose himself- God forbid he actually cry in front of someone, let alone the stoic butler of the former Earl- before Crehador finally looked up again. Riff was waiting, patiently.

"She... she said that, did she?" Crehador finally managed, before something occurred to him, "...But... if you and Sheila are in the same place..." The thought of Sheila burning in Hell was not one that Crehador cared to entertain, but at the same time, it would make sense- she had been a Lady of the Evening, and they had been lovers outside of a marital relationship- and Riffael, being a murderer and having sworn long ago that he would go to Hell for his Master... as much as it was logical to see, it made Crehador very uncomfortable.

"It is not Heaven..." Riff replied, "But, at the same time, it is not Hell, either." Crehador frowned.

"So... where ARE you, then?" He asked, completely at a loss for anything else to say. Riff frowned, but at least looked remorseful that his answer had to be the next words he said.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you." Rif said, quietly. Crehador frowned at him, before Riff continued, "We are forbidden to tell the living what lies after death. Not by God, or by some transcendental law, but it is simply forbidden for us to speak of our dwelling. I am afraid I cannot tell you any more than that."

Crehador had nothing to say to that, but eventually sighed with some sort of relief. At the very least, he felt gratitude that the Earl, as pompous as he'd been, had not gone to the fires of Hell after what he'd gone through in life and all the good deeds that he had done. It was cold comfort, but comfort none the less, and while Crehador wouldn't have called it caring about the Earl, Crehador still felt somewhat indebted to Cain for the simple fact that he had promised to avenge Sheila's death- not for money, praise, services, or even satisfaction, but because he had understood Crehador's loss.

"I suppose etiquette demands that I inquire..." Crehador finally said, almost put-upon, "But how is the Earl adjusting to the afterlife, however it is?"

Riff's face became more solemn than ever.

"That is why I am here." He said, bluntly, "Lord Cain has disappeared."

A/N: I realize it's short, but I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger, that particular note, and update relatively soon. At least it's A CHAPTER, right?


	4. Chapter 4

CAST FROM THE GARDEN

By Sapadu

A/N: This will probably be the last chapter, unless someone else has an idea of how to end it... My juices are dried up on this one.

"Excuse me?" Were the first coherent words out of Crehador's mouth. He was fairly confident that this many heart attacks in succession was not very good for him, but then, heart attacks in general were not very healthy, so what was a second one in a matter of minutes going to do? Once Crehador regained his bearings, logical thought returned, but even that did not help make sense of what Riff had just said.

"Lord Cain is missing. He disappeared, to be precise. Just within the last few days and I need to find him." Riff repeated. Crehador was sitting straight up, now, pondering this information, before something came to him.

"You were the one who wrote the letter asking me to come here." It wasn't a question. Crehador knew it had been the old butler- who else could have possibly known where the Hargreaves special paper, ink, and wax sealer had been on any given writing desk in the Hargreaves household. Not to mention the butler was known for using his left hand. In any case, Riff didn't respond, leaving Crehador to push the conversation further.

"So, the Earl disappeared, did he?" Crehador said, frowning as he propped himself up into a more comfortable position to think. Riff merely nodded, before reading into Crehador's next question.

"I require your assistance because you are the only one who could speak to the dead and you might be the only one who could help me find him. Besides, if I appeared to Mistress Merryweather and Lord Oscar, they would believe me to be a demon trying to deceive them into thinking Lord Cain was dead."

Crehador could not argue with that.

"Yes... they both stubbornly believe he is still alive." Arrogant bastard that the Earl was, he couldn't even let them forget him. Though, really Crehador knew he couldn't blame the Earl, but it still felt almost like it was his will that neither of the two would forget or move past him. Was this what they called love? Or was it merely obsession?

Or was it the will of God? The final torment for a damned soul that he could never rest in peace, his loved ones always waiting for him, and nobody able to tell them he was truly gone?

An idea occurred to Crehador as the memory of smirking golden eyes rose in his mind.

"The baby..." He said, slowly. Riff blinked at him, unresponsive, but Crehador didn't know if it was because he doubted or simply didn't understand, "Just yesterday, Lady Hargreaves had a child... And, for some reason we can't understand, the babe has golden eyes..."

Riff frowned, but with visible agitation instead of confusion.

"You suspect reincarnation?" He asked, doubtfully. Crehador smirked.

"If there truly is no Heaven or Hell, then I'm willing to accept that it may be possible. Don't forget that was the goal of THAT organization. The Earl was there just as the spell was almost completed- it's always a possibility." The look on Riff's face was appropriately stunned, which only reminded Crehador that Riff hadn't been present to see the ceremony commenced, nor precisely what had transpired between the Cardmaster and the Earl just before the tower collapsed.

Now that Crehador thought about it, it would make perfect sense- the woman that the Cardmaster had sought to resurrect had been sadistic enough to chain her son to life in such a fashion, never allowing him solace, always separated from God, and naturally forcing him to relive through the bloodstained history of the Hargreaves.

Riff's expression had changed again- this time, he looked contemplative, almost as though puzzling through how it could be possible, before he sighed. Funny, but for a spirit, Riff almost seemed to truly be there- he spoke, made faces, even created sounds like only that of a living creature.

"In that case, we shall have to investigate. Tonight would be most preferable, I believe..." Riff finally said, closing his eyes in resignation to the fact that it would have to be done. Crehador sighed, then carefully got out of bed, finding a dressing gown and slippers appropriate for a visit to the child's room.

'I just hope that the babe is alone enough that Lady Hargreaves won't have a fit for me poking around at this hour of the night.' He thought, sourly.

* * *

To Crehador's surprise, the new baby Hargreaves was not alone in the cradle, but the figure standing over it and keeping the babe entertained was one that Crehador had never expected to see again in his life. Just like Riff, Cain appeared to be as real as though he were alive, allowing the infant Hargreaves to grip his fingers with a small smile on his face as the little one in the crib chortled.

After recovering from the brief moment of shock, Crehador managed to speak.

"Earl, this is where you were the whole time?" He asked, holding the candle up a little higher to be sure he was seeing correctly. Cain cast no shadow on the floor, but the light did not simply pass through him at the same time. It was a particularly unusual phenomenon to behold, but only confirmed that this was not an impostor or something of the sort wearing the Earl's clothes.

Cain smiled that arrogant, yet angelic smile that he'd always worn, briefly glancing at Crehador, eyes softening the slightest at the sight of Riff, before turning back to the crib.

"I wanted to be present for the birth of Merry's baby- the thought of not being here was simply too much to bear." He explained, even as the little one continued to squeeze on his finger, "She looks so incredibly like me- no wonder you two were confused."

"'She', Lord Cain?" Riff asked, striding forward. He, too, was undoubtedly solid, but still cast no shadow. Cain did not look away from the crib until he was forced to, facing Crehador with a very severe expression, though it was ruined by the smirk on his lips.

"That was cruel, Crehador." He said, voice slightly menacing, but light at the same time. Crehador cocked an eyebrow, before Cain held out his other hand, a small sapphire ring sparkling in his palm, "Leaving this for Merry Weather to find- Very cruel indeed. Whatever were you planning to do, leading her on like that?"

Crehador had very little to say to that, but knew better than to make any of the sarcastic retorts on his mind at that particular moment.

"You always were irresponsible like that." Cain leaned against the crib, hands back in his pockets. For some peculiar reason, he still carried that cane he'd been so fond of in life. Whyever could he need it now? Surely fashion wasn't so important in the afterlife, and when someone was dead, there was little reason for a concealed sword or gun that canes had such great aptitude for.

Riff coughed a little.

"Lord Cain, you are not in a position to say such things, if I may say so, sir." Crehador glared at the two specters, feeling impatient to why they were still here. Cain cast his butler a glance, before chuckling a little bit.

"Indeed- I always have been irresponsible, myself." He agreed, before the serious look returned. This time, Crehador sensed something else in his tone than just disappointment in his sister being fooled. There was something serious, almost grim, that was lurking behind those golden eyes. And it was a message that Cain meant to deliver.

"What else do you have to say, Earl?" Crehador asked, suspiciously.

Cain watched Crehador for a long moment, almost pityingly, before hanging his head.

"Crehador, did you ever understand why my father was so insistent in having you join his ranks in Delilah, as the Magician?" Cain's voice was calm, but there was something soothing to it that Crehador had never heard from the Earl before- Tact. Whatever difficult message he was trying to convey, the Earl was going to be tactful, for once.

That made Crehador even more uneasy than ever before.

"He was always willing to extend the offer because of my abilities. Are you asking why he didn't just find a different medium or other such human with supernatural awareness- I'm sure he could very easily have done that?" Crehador asked, folding his arms in an attempt to remain stubborn and defiant, but the Earl still had that look of pity on his face.

"No, Crehador- he could not have done that so easily... Your abilities to speak to the dead are significantly rare. And did you ever wonder why my father was willing to accept you right into the Major Arcana, and to such a high position such as Number One, at that?" Those haunting, golden eyes were resting on Crehador, unblinking, calculating.

And Crehador still didn't have a bloody clue what he was getting at.

"Furthermore, all of the higher cards in Delilah were required to undergo a kind of reincarnation ceremony. Even the doctor went through it. But my father was willing to make an exception in your case."

Oh.

"...But... How... I've been alive this whole time... and..." Crehador stumbled over his words, but the look on Cain's face remained serious.

"They say the dead know everything." He pondered out-loud, "It's not exactly true, but we do have more insight than the living... you died as you were being born and my father, being involved in experiments with Delilah at that point, decided to offer your mother the bargain of giving you a new body."

At which point, he developed his ability to communicate with spirits. All that was needed was for the Cardmaster to wait until Crehador was old enough, and since he had still been a child, it would have been easy to manipulate his memories so he didn't remember most of his childhood and cover-up a speeded aging process. After all, he was supposedly twenty-three, but the organization had been founded after the birth of the Earl, just seventeen at his time of death.

"...Then what are YOU doing here?" Crehador finally asked. Cain's eyes continued to linger on him, unblinking.

"Because it was the only way to get the message to YOU." Cain replied, and the tone of his voice explained everything.

"It's time for me to move on."

The words seemed distant, even as Crehador admitted it out loud. Perhaps it was because he technically was already dead, or maybe it was because he had spoken to the dead for so long, but he felt no fear for the reality behind them. Actually, after all this time still alive and a great deal of it questioning his right to exist after his mother's death, and then his all-consuming hatred of nobility and the desire to avenge himself upon them...

Death sounded... quite peaceful.

Crehador found himself smiling, not realizing nor caring that Lady MerryWeather Hargreaves would be in for quite a shock the next morning when she came to check on her daughter. The candle flickered out.

* * *

"Lord Cain, that was a serious risk you took- If you'd gotten lost and not been able to find your way back..." Riff was scolding- except it was more of a worried, but gentle reminder. Cain didn't reply, but merely smirked.

"I had no intention of being here on my own." He said, calmly. Riff paused for a moment, before Cain continued, one eye flitting in Riff's direction, "I knew that you would notice if I suddenly disappeared, and then would find a way to call on Crehador to find me, given his talents to speak to the dead. And I had a chance to meet my niece- a win-win scenario."

Riff blinked at Cain for a moment, before sighing, heavily.

"You are too reckless sometimes, Lord Cain." He said, even as Cain continued to smile, peacefully.

"Perhaps." Cain agreed. Riff's eyes opened again as he continued to watch his master.

"How could you be sure that I would find you? Or, for that matter, I wouldn't get lost myself during this whole time?" Cain had turned his back to stare out the window at the yellow moon that hung in the sky, but Riff could still tell he was smiling the same as usual.

When Cain turned back to look at him, the light from the moon seemed to make his own golden eyes glow in the darkness.

"Because it was YOU who would find me. Just like always." Riff blinked for a moment, taken aback, but eventually smiled back. Cain let out a little huff of a chuckle, before he closed his eyes and turned back to the window.

"Riff, we should be leaving soon." He said, almost idly, waving his hand, "Hat and cloak, if you wouldn't mind."

Riff allowed a small smile to cross his lips as a top hat and long, black cape came out of nowhere. In a practiced motion, he crossed the room to his master, put the cloak over Cain's shoulders, and the hat in Cain's hands, whom then placed it on his head.

"Let us go, then."

Then, in that same ghostliness that gave them no shadows, Cain and Riff walked through the window, onto the balcony, before vanishing into the night air, side by side.

* * *

_I do not care if I can never return to that netherworld that is death._

_I do not care if I am forever cursed to be a wanderer of the world._

_For you are here, by my side._

_To me, that is greater than salvation._

A/N: A-and... that's done.

Gotcha all, didn' I? Y'all thought that the baby was Cain's reincarnation, heh? Suckers! So, yeah- this fic is OVER!


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